For Whom the Bell Tolls
by WonderlandStar
Summary: I'm Ara. But I'm also not. It's all rather confusing in the beginning, and I'm starting to suspect it doesn't get any better. (Semi-SI)
1. Beginning Arc: Before (Part One)

**For Whom the Bell Tolls**

* * *

 **Beginning Arc: Before (Part One)**

* * *

I'm not much of a writer, so I don't know how to start this.

How about this: _Once upon a time, a girl lived._

No, maybe it should be: _there was once a gir_ _l who died. The End._

(But wait, that wasn't the end.)

That's a no also, um, I should probably just start from the beginning.

(But where exactly is my beginning?)

* * *

I hadn't always been Ara Haan.

Hadn't always had pale skin and eyes the color of dandelions. Hadn't always been the youngest one in the family. Hadn't ever trained in any martial arts before.

(I was Li Meiling, the oldest child of six children, getting ready for college. I had sun-kissed skin blessed from constant exposure to sunlight and eyes so dark, they were often mistaken for black; at only eighteen years old, I was probably the ultimate pacifist in my whole veteran family.)

But it didn't matter anymore. I was Ara Haan and Ara Haan was me.

So, it didn't matter anymore.

(Really.)

* * *

Try as I might, sometimes, I just can't recall the faces of my family and friends, even though I held them so close and valued them more than my own life. They are like images seen behind blurry glasses. There is no clarity or precision.

( _So easily forgotten, are you even trying?_ )

I think I remember how I died, though, at the very least.

There had been a robber on the loose with the police chasing him down. I had been listening to music, headphones jammed on and humming to my favorite song, hoping that I would have a normal dinner that night and not something that was too Asian for me to eat because my mother was stubborn about sticking to traditional cuisine.

I had not heard the shots. Had not heard the shouts of _out of my way or I'll shoot!_ Had not even had time to react to a sudden jolt of force as it shoved me against a stop sign.

I only remember the spreading redness of my favorite white blouse— _Happy Birthday, Meiling!_ —and the fact that it was _so hard to breathe_ and that I was choking on something— _can'tbreatheithurtspleasestop_ —

Ah...

Well.

I believe you can guess the rest.

* * *

My first memory here was...surreal to say the least.

One minute I was on the ground, bleeding and bleeding and **bleeding** — _ohmygodwhyistheresomuchblood_ —and then the next I was screaming as I tumbled out of a bed.

 _That hurt, am I dead_ — _what'sgoingon_ —

"Ara?" Someone whispered. "Ara!"

Then there were hands grabbing me and I let out another wail, hands forming into fists and trying to punch whoever was holding me.

"Ara, what's wrong? Tell your big brother Aren!" he tried to cajole me. "C'mon, you can tell me anything you know?"

"B-big brother Aren?" I stuttered in reply, too hysterical to realize the strange accent on his Chinese pronunciation. _But I don't have an elder brother? I'm the oldest one in the family, what is this person talking about?_ I bit back my tears for the moment, blinking through the moisture as I peered at the person cradling me to his chest.

It was dark, so I could barely see anything. As my eyes wandered and my sobs gradually faded, I realized that I didn't know where I was. With a little bit of the light coming from the moon, I saw, across the room, a large dresser. On top of the dresser, there was a mirror. And, there, reflected on the glassy surface, was the face of a game character I knew all too well.

Ah.

(I wish I had some of my mother's curry before I died.)

Lips trembling, I smiled, even as more tears filled my eyes, hitting the soft fabric of Ara's— _you are Ara_ —older brother's shirt. Then, in my clearest Mandarin, I said, "Don't worry about it, b-brother, I'm— _dead, you're fucking dead and never going back, you fool_ —fine."

(There is nothing more to say. The dead can only move on.)

* * *

 _At the age of eighteen, I became a murderer._

 _I killed Ara Haan and replaced her._

* * *

When my tears abided and my sobs completely disappeared, Aren asked, "Did you have a bad dream?"

"Ah, well..."

' _Meiling, you've grown up. I'm sure the first day of college will be fine.'_

' _My daughter, it's been a while, so I haven't seen you in person yet, but I'm sure you've grown up to be a beautiful woman.'_

' _Hey, sister, let's go play video games! Bet I can beat you in Mario Cart!'_

' _No way, sister promised to play with me today, right?'_

"No," I bit my lips again to keep the tears at bay. "It was a good dream. A really good dream."

"Is that so?" he pulled back slightly to stare doubtfully at my still-wet cheeks, but then shrugged and patted my head. "Then, that's great."

"Uh-hm," I nodded against his shoulder, feeling really sleepy for some strange reason. I let out a yawn and he snorted.

"Hurry and go back to sleep, Ara," he watched me climb back on the bed and then headed toward the door. "Don't forget that we have training tomorrow."

"Yes." I pulled the covers towards me and laid down.

As soon as the door closed, I threw the covers off and made a mad dash for the mirror. Seeing the same pale face reflected back, I frowned. Immediately, I pinched myself and then gave myself a quick punch on the shoulder to be sure.

 _Ow._ I blinked and rubbed the now sore shoulder. The person in the mirror did the same. I stopped and so did she. Giving up, I stepped closer and examined the body I now had.

This body was probably no older than six, judging from the height and the baby fat left on the cheeks. Golden eyes stare back at me, and I realized that _huh, no more glasses for me_. Ara's vision was 20/20, so much better than the vision I used to have when I was this age. I sat on the dresser, mindful of the thin silk dress that Ara had been wearing to bed, and clenched my tiny hands into fists, only to sigh and wrap the surprisingly long limbs around my body.

"I'm alive," I spoke aloud, but it was in English so no one would understand even if they heard me. "Hey, gods or goddesses, I'm alive, but I don't want to be here."

Turning to the moon, I reached out a hand, as if to brush the craters on the surface. "Hey, I'm really sorry if I'm bothering you, but I-I just want to go home. _Please_ , I-I won't ever ask for anything else, so c-can I?"

As if mocking me, a shooting star flew across the sky at the same time another tear fell from my eyes. _Can you?_ it seemed to laugh as it streaked in a brilliant splash of color across the dark night sky. _You know the answer already, don't you?_

And I did.

(For whom the bells toll, time marches on, you know?)

* * *

I would've kept on mourning, but I stopped.

It was unfair.

 **Because while I could mourn for my own death, b** **ut who would mourn for Ara's?**

(And nobody ever would know.)

* * *

I did say before that I wasn't much of a writer right? Well, that's because I was a drawer. My hands were unnaturally always steady and my drawn lines clearly straight, often without meaning to be. My mind just picks apart at the small details in every single person or thing.

 _Oh, that man that came to the park yesterday cut his hair by at least two inches._

 _Wow, that woman's lipstick is clashing with her clothes because it is a shade brighter._

 _Hm, did that blade of grass just grow by half a centimeter?_

But, if I had to draw my first scene here, in this world, I don't think I would be able to capture the despair and shock and tears and that _gut-wrenching pain_ —

Ah, sorry, I went on a tangent again. It happens often.

Like I was trying to say before, though, my favorite hobby was drawing. Whether it was little comics or just random doodles on my notebook, I drew everywhere and everything that caught my worn-out eyes. My art teacher often said that I had an eye for beauty, and maybe, I think, I did. When I think back on it, my first drawing had been at the age of seven years old, too young to actually draw a pretty sunset, but I had tried.

 _I had tried._

I drew dewdrops on morning grass, moonbeams through my window pane, and a single star that had been crowded out by smoke from the factories. I soon learned that there were two types of beauty. The first type was like my sunset, warm, gentle and soothing to the soul. A classical representation of beauty. Another was a type I learned much later, at the age of nine when there were fights and harsh words thrown at each other by my parents every night for weeks. There were tears and screams and _it was so ugly_ , but still, after the divorce papers had been filed and the signature officially put, _I saw it_ —that terribly ugly beauty.

A type of beauty that can't be always be seen, but from the way my parents' faces no longer had that strained, tired look and the way their faces light up at their prospective freedoms, well, I think there might have been beauty in that.

A broken, but still striving to be seen, beauty.

 _(I-I... I can't.)_

I know all this rambling about beauty probably makes no sense right now, but you'll understand.

(You'll understand.)

* * *

Elsword was a game I occasionally dabbled in. I think I might have started because of the animation that caught my attention, though I soon grew bored of it. Sometimes, to amuse my younger siblings, I participated in dungeons and arenas with them and complained together about the mean people in-game when they suddenly quit a dungeon or match in the middle. Other times, I would skim the official website to see that a new character was coming out, get excited and create one right then and there, only to quickly grow bored of them after playing a few dungeons or matches because either they really didn't suit my style of playing or I simply didn't like them as a character.

Ara Haan had been one of latter.

Don't get me wrong, I was pretty good at playing her (if you don't count the many times I was too lazy to combo and just spammed X). Still, despite her faster speed and cool awakening mode, I couldn't get into her mindset. I suppose it was just the fact that she bothered to go and try to turn back her brother, who probably would've personally slaughtered her, all the while blaming herself because she _just wasn't strong enough_ to protect the village or something.

As a person who loves to study psychology, I cannot even say how twisted Ara must have gotten when she realized that she couldn't even do anything in the end. It was really unhealthy, and I was glad that no one else in my family could see that.

As such, when I returned to bed, I tossed and turned and wondered about what to do. Ara had three paths; I had to choose one. It should have been easy. After all, I knew the backstories for each one. Yet, I dithered and pondered because there were so many variables I didn't know about. Take Aren for one. But, in the end, when the moon was fading, this childish body of mine gave in to the urges of sleep, letting darkness overtake me.

I didn't have a single dream.

* * *

 **A/N: Just in case you don't know what an SI character is, it means a self-insert character. In this case, it means the author imagines inserting themselves into another world and writing much about what they'll probably feel like and do within their character if they had known the plot and etc. So, yes, it's kind of like me in there.**

 **(I'd feel terrible if you can tell, lol).**

 **It's kind of vain, and I can see why many people don't like these kind of stories, but I'm going to try this out. Sorry, if you had been waiting on updates for my other stories. I've been continuously changing them over and over again, but I'm not satisfied with any of the chapters I've written. Until they do, I'm just not going to put them up because I'm a perfectionist, lol.**

* * *

 **The biggest question is:** Why Ara?

 **My answer:** I have no clue. Probably because I was playing on SD and had an idea.


	2. Beginning Arc: Before (Part Two)

**For Whom the Bell Tolls**

* * *

 **Beginning Arc: Before (Part Two)**

* * *

I don't want to die again. What human being does? It's very natural to be afraid of death, and people do all sorts of things to prevent death from occurring.

Having died once, I still don't want to fade away. I don't want to be killed by Aren. I don't want to be in life or death situations where I constantly feel as if my life is flashing before my eyes. I don't want anyone else to die, but if it's my life or theirs, I…

 _I want to live._

And if power is what it takes… Then, I'll do anything for this power.

(So, so selfish. But also so very human.)

* * *

The sun had barely risen when I was shaken awake by yet another person.

"Ara, child, hurry and wake up or your father will scold you." The scent of citrus fruits and fresh baked bread wafted in the air as fingers pinched my cheeks. "Ara, wake up."

"I'm not Ara…" I mumbled, somewhat half-asleep, tilting my head away from the unwanted pressure. "Mother, you have the wrong person…"

"Don't lie, Ara. Here, I'll lift you up and brush your hair for you." Something pushed me into a sitting position, but I kept my eyes closed, enjoying the sensation of a comb running through my hair.

"You never do that…" I slurred a little. "You only do that to my younger siblings, Mother."

"Ara Haan, don't speak nonsense!"

 _Wait_ , my eyes snapped open as the words registered. _Ara Haan._ Ara. Haan.

Internally screaming, I snapped my head around to the person that was brushing my hair, causing the comb in their hand to yank painfully at my hair. I yelped and clutched my head in my hands.

"That hurts…"

I heard a sigh behind me and slowly turned to look at whoever it was. "Don't be so impatient, Ara," a beautiful woman smiled wryly and shook her head, turning the very shocked me around and continuing to brush my hair. "You'll get hurt if you move around too much."

Was this Ara's mother? She was so young, though… Did she even hit her late twenties yet?

Well, only one way to make sure, though…

"M-mother?" I asked.

A soft 'hmmm?' was given in return as she concentrated on pulling my hair into a ponytail. She didn't reject the title, which means… She really was Ara's mother. With soft, smiling lines around the eyes and dimples on the cheeks, I'm pretty sure that she could pass for a teen if she tried. Anyway, I could see the resemblance between her and Ara's—well, my face now. I had the exact same nose and heart-shaped face as her, though her eyes were more brown than yellow.

"O-oh, it's nothing," I fiddled with the two strands of hair that hadn't been tied up yet.

"Oh?" Lightning flash, she whipped me around and beamed. "Come on, you can tell your mother anything!" She leaned closer. "Could it be that you're nervous about your first day of training?"

"Uh…" I blinked and nodded, feeling only a little bit bad about lying to her but shrugged it off. Whatever. It was kind of true, anyway. Since I never knew of any martial arts other than the few self-defense moves my gung-ho grandfather tried to teach me, well, it is safe to assume I didn't know anything about fighting.

"Well, don't worry about it!" She reaches over and begins to tie snow white ribbons on the hair strands left behind. "You'll do just fine. You're my daughter after all!"

I was soon urged to wash up, and while I did that, Mother left clothes on the bed for me to wear afterwards. Looking over at them, I could only sigh.

"Seriously? I have to wear base Ara's clothes?" It wasn't exactly the same clothes per say, because while it was indeed a one piece outfit, it switched out the open dress for a pair of stitched on shorts. It was still orange and white accented, though. So, literally, it's pretty much something I would wear if I wanted to fit the cute _pumpkin_ look.

Sulking all the while, I put the outfit on, pulled on the arm and wrist guards along with knee-high socks, and topped it all off with a pair of orange-brown boots. Dear god, the only thing that made this outfit bearable was the arm and wrist guards. Otherwise, the original me would've shoved it to the back of the closet by now.

I stride to the door, almost losing my balance because I had overextended my...legs.

Oh.

"Why am I so short?" I complained, clutching the doorknob to hold myself up. "I know this body's probably only like, six, but still!"

When I opened the door, Aren was already there, leaning against the wall with a smile.

"Good morning, Ara," he waved me over and patted me on the head when I obediently walked over. "You probably already know where the training hall is at but since it's your first day of training, I'll walk you over there today."

 _Uh, I kind of don't Aren, but you know,_ you didn't know that _so..._

"T-thanks." It feels really nice to be petted on the head. As the oldest one in the house, I had never been petted by my family. Usually, it was me doing the petting, but my younger siblings always whined about being treated as a kid, so I didn't do it often. Seriously, though, I don't get it. If this was how it felt like to be petted, I would never complain.

* * *

The courtyard of the Haan family was very spacious. And when I say spacious, think of how big a football stadium is, then multiply by two. Yeah, really spacious, right?

Anyway.

As...spacious as it was, it was still completely covered in people that were training. Some were fighting with their bare fists while others used a weapon of some kind. Spears, arrows, swords, nunchucks, etc… If you could name the weapon, there was a high probability of it being there.

"Have you decided what weapon you will be specializing in?" Aren's smooth, low voice carried over the grunts and puffs of the people in training. "Or do you only want to fight bare-handed?"

Well, that's a very good question, Brother. I just don't know if I can answer it.

The Ara Haan I know uses a spear in combat. She either slashes forward or thrust it backwards. Her combos seemed to transition into the next pose without any trouble, seamlessly guiding through the steps. But I… couldn't. While being true to the original character is good, there is such things that don't completely transfer over. Such as my pacifist nature.

"I…" I nervously clenched my fists. "I don't want to fight, Brother."

Aren gave me a look that seemed to say _you're joking, right?_ before sighing and patting me on the head again when I didn't even crack a smile. "Ara, do you know the history of the Haan Clan and how we came into power?"

"Ah…" Kinda? I sort of skipped intros for most of the characters. "Didn't we seal the Nine-Tailed Fox," who I really need to find soon, "and then harness the power of the Moon El?"

"I'll give you half a point on that," Aren smiles, almond-shaped eyes sharpening in the preparation of the upcoming serious explanation. "You have to remember that we, the Haan clan, were not as numerous or strong as we were now, so how did we seal the powerful Nine-Tailed Fox?"

Huh, that's a really good question. How did they seal it? They didn't have the Moon El back then and they certainly couldn't go brute force on it because what's a hundred people against a _large_ _demon fox_? The words 'cannon fodder' flashed in my mind, and I gave a mental wince before staring expectantly at Aren to explain.

He correctly interpreted my interested look because he continued, "This is all due to our ability to absorb spiritual energy. While the fox itself could also absorb energy, everyone in the clan had been trained to absorb this energy since they were young. Thus, we could prevent the fox from absorbing more energy from the surroundings and getting stronger. We also possessed a sealing technique that was unique to the clan, developed many years ago by our first clan lady."

So, Ara's ability to utilize spirit orbs wasn't completely from Eun? …That was an interesting tidbit of info. I always believed Ara was only able to absorb and get spirit orbs because she had Eun, who was (in my mind) a spiritual fox similar to Kurama from Naruto.

 _Huh, they are both pretty tsun, now that I think about it..._

But just to be sure...

"What is spiritual energy? And what this thing about the first clan lady?" I asked, because well, why not? Knowledge is power, and if it's one thing that's useful at nearly all times, it's power.

However, instead of answering me like he did a while ago, he gave an exaggerated, exasperated sigh. "Oh, Ara, now isn't the time to be talking about this. You should've paid attention in class yesterday. Come on, let's get to Father before we're late."

"Un," I agreed for the sake of agreeing. Because I had no clue what happened yesterday, and even I can't exactly say, _oh yesterday? Why, I was completely a different person yesterday, Brother. I may look like Ara, smell like Ara, and sound like Ara, but I'm not your sister. Sorry, if you thought wrong._

Yeah, I'm pretty sure that will make Aren give me a strange or two before patting me on the head. … Not that I mind because head pats feel great.

"Here are our training rooms," Aren said, interrupting my thoughts of saying unbelievable things aloud. "You should go on in first. Father should be waiting for you in the back."

Well.

Let's hope Ara's dad doesn't notice my change in attitude too much.

(Seriously, what had I been hoping for? ...It never mattered later on.)

* * *

 **A/N: No excuses here. Take it, _just take it_.**

 **(Thanks for your reviews, they make me feel all warm and tingly inside.**

 **Really, it motivated me so much that I wrote about half this chapter in a day.)**

 **DescendingSnow \- Are SI OC stories really rare in this fandom? I could only find two and that includes mine lol.**

 **XenoVise \- They did say curiosity killed the cat ^^;; Thank you for your encouragement.**

 **TheRunAwayPanda \- Why thank you! I do love your pen name. ...Though, from the most recent movie, pandas don't run. They roll...**


End file.
